


hunted

by sinfulchihuahua0602



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Predator/Prey, Witcher Potions (The Witcher), honestly, how dare there not be a tied-up jaskier tag, i don't even write detailed smut and i have tied-up jaskier, it's not non-con it's actually very sexy, predator geralt, prey jaskier, shame on you people who actually write smut, tied-up jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulchihuahua0602/pseuds/sinfulchihuahua0602
Summary: jaskier finds geralt after a hunt. he becomes the next one.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 214





	hunted

Jaskier can’t hear anything.

Fuck, he can’t hear anything. Geralt had vanished into the woods to kill the drowners in the lake, and Jaskier had stayed behind, and now Geralt is fuck-knows-where while Jaskier is alone in the dark woods, with senses not nearly as strong as a Witcher - and like  _ fuck _ is he using his lute as a weapon.

Well, he won’t let himself be caught that easily. He starts walking, in the direction he thinks the town is, and he tries to shove down his fear, even as the shadows press in closer around him and he thinks he’s walking away from the town.

And then the shadows move and Jaskier _knows_ he’s walking away from the town. He abruptly turns, runs, because he isn’t going to die today, thank you very much.

He makes it several feet before he reaches the edge of a clearing and skids to a stop at the treeline. Geralt always warned him about going into clearings at night, because anything could hide in the shadows. Not as if anything couldn’t hide in the shadows when Jaskier was in the trees, anyway, but at least he was  _ part  _ of the shadows and not standing in the middle of a circle of light like a beacon for any predator wanting an easy target.

Something moves into the clearing with a flash of moonlight against-

_ White hair.  _ Jaskier nearly starts running towards Geralt, relief flooding through his chest that he’s alive and relatively uninjured as far as he can see, but Geralt’s skin is still deathly pale and his eyes are night-black.

Normally, that wouldn’t stop Jaskier at all, but there’s something about the way Geralt’s head snaps up and tilts, dark eyes locking on where Jaskier is, that reminds Jaskier of a predator, and isn’t  _ that  _ an idea that sends all his blood flowing down south.

Jaskier freezes, knowing Geralt can see him, and his mind goes back to the low, dark promises growled in his ear in the tavern that night. Something about showing Jaskier who he belonged to, after he flirted and went a bit too far with the lady at the bar that night. He’d finished his performance, then took his rightful place sliding onto Geralt’s lap and earning an annoyed growl in his ear, and-

_ Oh. _

Geralt’s stalking towards him, now, with a kind of predatory grace that makes Jaskier’s heart beat rabbit-fast and heat spread throughout his entire body. 

But, Geralt should know that Jaskier is never easy prey.

Jaskier flashes a smirk at Geralt, just as his pace towards him quickens, and turns to run. He doesn’t go far, obviously; he’s not an idiot. Not being easy prey means not being easy prey for  _ anything,  _ including the monsters lurking in this forest. Right now, he -  _ all _ of him, in fact - is only interested in being hunted by his Witcher, thanks.

Jaskier stops suddenly, realization dawning on him, and somehow it only makes his body grow more heated.

_ Fuck,  _ he’s being hunted by a  _ Witcher. _

* * *

Geralt can taste his songbird’s arousal on his tongue, can hear the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears, fast like a wild animal.

Fast like prey.

The night flashes through his mind - Jaskier, leaning against the bar and trading flirty smiles with the bartender. Jaskier, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and doublet half-unbuttoned, sliding onto Geralt’s lap after his performance. Jaskier, squirming as Geralt describes what exactly he’s going to do to him when they get back to their room for flirting so much with the bartender, and for looking so debauched already. 

And now, Jaskier flashing him that smirk even as the scent of his arousal increases tenfold, and then running away.

Geralt knows his bard won’t go too far away - he may be stupid, but he’s not  _ idiotic.  _ So, he sets a steady walking pace, tracking the scent of Jaskier’s arousal, because he’s nothing if not a good hunter - and this time, Jaskier is his prey.

And if he can feel heat rushing down his body too, well. He’ll just have to find Jaskier faster, won’t he?

* * *

Jaskier runs, trying to silence his movements as much as possible, and then he stops - again. He thinks over his predicament.

He’s being chased by a Witcher - entirely his fault, and he has absolutely no regrets - and that Witcher is very interested in him. Specifically, his body, because those promises he made in that tavern were not at all fake - rather, they were extremely arousing and just thinking about them has Jaskier wanting to run right back to Geralt and let him fuck him senseless.

But, no. He can make this fun.

He smirks and slips off his doublet. The cold presses in on his loose, thin shirt, but the night isn’t  _ freezing,  _ and Jaskier can deal, considering the much warmer prize waiting for him. He slides a branch through the sleeve and leaves it hanging there - it’s one of the cheaper ones, anyway, and he never really liked it. Honestly, he had been saving it for a particularly good night for Geralt to rip it off of him, stitching be damned, but he supposes this is just as good a purpose.

Something cracks in the trees around him, Jaskier’s heart picks up until it’s beating rabbit-fast as his body heats up again, and, yeah, this is  _ definitely  _ a good purpose, he thinks as he runs.

* * *

Geralt follows the scent of Jaskier’s arousal, tinged with a hint of fear - but not at him, never at him. Not for the reasons he’d think, anyway. Jaskier taught him that years ago, in a long night spent slowly taking Geralt apart and putting him back together with the softest, kindest words of praise whispered in his ear and pressed into his scarred skin.

This thought almost overrides Geralt’s primal desire to fuck Jaskier into- whatever surface is available, until he spots a flash of bright blue in the trees. 

He walks over and slides Jaskier’s doublet off of a tree branch. He holds it up to his nose and smells it - it reeks of Jaskier. Wild grass, wood oil, and that spicy scent of his arousal. Geralt gives a low growl, his own arousal flaring, and holds the doublet in his hand. He keeps walking, the primal part of him pacing like a caged animal. 

Geralt walks, eyes still dark and the potions searing through his system, and thinks of all the things he’s going to do to Jaskier when he finds him. 

There’s quite a variety. 

* * *

Jaskier stops for a second time, closer than before because he’d rather not be running around shirtless too far from Geralt, no matter how fun - and arousing - this game is, and slides his shirt over his head. This one, he knows, is going to have much more of an effect on his Witcher. He can feel the light sheen of sweat on his back from running, and even he can smell the arousal on the shirt when he sniffs it. 

He thinks of what it will do to Geralt’s enhanced senses, grins, and tosses the shirt on the ground, as if he had thrown it carelessly down while running, and continues. This time he walks - now he’s looking for something specific and he needs the perfect location for it. 

He finds it a few minutes later - a small clearing with a smaller, younger tree in it. He tests one of the branches, finds that it holds up, and smiles. 

Now for the last part. 

* * *

Geralt keeps walking, tastes Jaskier’s arousal on his tongue the entire time, and thinks that this damned bard is driving him insane. The potions are close to wearing off, but Jaskier has ignited something far deeper than the potions in his gut, and the shirt he finds tossed on the ground doesn’t help it with going away anytime soon. 

He sniffs it, the sweet-spicy scent of Jaskier assaulting his nose, and his eyes darken, a low growl rising from his throat. He holds the shirt and the doublet in one hand and keeps walking, feeling like his entire body is burning - and not because of the potions. 

Three minutes later and he reaches the edge of a clearing - with his bard in it. He stops, dropping the doublet and shirt, though he can feel his restraint close to snapping, like a thread. 

Jaskier is standing on his feet, arms raised above his head and wrists tied with something that looks like the rope that went in his trousers, looped around a low-hanging tree branch. And said trousers sit dangerously low on his hips, making Geralt want nothing more than to rip them off of him. 

He doesn’t. He stalks forward, eyes devouring Jaskier, who’s presented like a fresh meal. His skin shines with a light sheen of sweat,  _ glows  _ with the moonlight that pools in the dips and curves of his body, and Jaskier’s arousal only grows as Geralt stalks closer. 

He presses right up against the bard, one hand sliding from his hips to curve around his back and the other reaching up to his wrists. Geralt spares a half-second, critical glance at the rope, making sure that it isn’t truly hurting Jaskier, then pulls on one of the ends of the rope and tightens the knot. Jaskier had tied it so he could slip out of it easily if needed, but Geralt adjusts it so it isn’t so easy, and slides the knot further back on the branch so he can’t pull it off. 

Jaskier tugs experimentally at the knot and finds he suddenly can’t undo it, which only makes his face flush more and the spicy scent on Geralt’s tongue grow spicier. 

Geralt gives a low, possessive growl and buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, nipping lightly at the smooth skin with his teeth and earning a soft gasp from Jaskier. “What was all of this?” he says roughly into Jaskier’s neck. 

Jaskier’s voice is quiet, words broken by light gasps as Geralt continues nipping at his neck before kissing it. “Well -  _ ah  _ \- you made all of those -  _ fuck  _ \- promises, and I may -  _ ah  _ \- or may not like being prey.”

Geralt’s answering growl makes Jaskier shiver, and he  _ bites _ the smooth skin of his neck, relishing in the way Jaskier yelps and arches. He smirks once he finishes licking the mark and looks up into blue eyes, nearly translucent in the moonlight and dark with arousal. “Prey, hmm?”

Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes and sees the dark, almost animalistic lust there, and gives a short nod, because he’s currently dying of arousal right now and he’s quickly losing all train of coherent thought the longer Geralt looks at him like that. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

The resulting grin is mischievous and wicked, and Jaskier barely has the time to wonder what he’s gotten himself into before Geralt is attacking him - with teeth and tongue and,  _ gods,  _ his  _ hips,  _ his entire  _ body  _ is pressing against Jaskier, warm and solid and everything he ever wanted. 

He tugs at the ropes again, wanting so desperately to touch and take like Geralt is, but the rope doesn’t give and that’s just as arousing, because he himself was the one who had this idea and this is entirely his fault, as Geralt devours him like he’s a starving man. 

Which, maybe he is, Jaskier thinks, because he  _ did _ end up teasing him quite a lot with the whole shedding clothes plan. 

He doesn’t get much farther in that train of thought, though, because Geralt moves lower with his tongue and all coherent thought swiftly flees Jaskier’s brain. 

That night, Jaskier sings - sings for the birds and the owls and  _ especially  _ Geralt, who takes him so deliciously apart, the way only he can. 


End file.
